Pillow Talk
by Michelle Smith
Summary: Chapter three finally up!! Raistlin/Dalamar slashyness, but all fluff and nothing graphic.
1. All's Fair

Pillow Talk  
  
Dalamar jumped into bed, feeling utterly sexy in his leopard-spotted satin PJ's. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!" he called, striking a romantic pose on the black sheets.  
  
Raistlin appeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the doorframe, his black silk PJ's shining in the light of the candles Dalamar had thoughtfully lit. "I thought I already had," Raistlin said with a wry smile.  
  
Dalamar was out of the bed and across the room in a heartbeat, his fingers laced behind Raistlin's head. "Did I ever tell you you're cute when you're sardonic?" he asked.  
  
"Actually, you have." Raistlin laughed and ducked out of Dalamar's grasp, heading for the bed. He paused, turning to see whether Dalamar was following him or not.  
  
Dalamar took a flying leap. He soared through the air to collide with his Shalafi squarely, knocking them both back on the bed, Raistlin pinned under the elf. "Comfortable?" Dalamar asked. He smiled smugly, leaning down to kiss the apparently helpless mage.  
  
Just before Dalamar got there, Raistlin roll to the side. With a well- placed pull at Dalamar's collar and a smoothly timed twist of his legs, Raistlin pulled them both over.  
  
"Perfectly," Raistlin said, grinning triumphantly down at the elf.  
  
"Shalafi!" Dalamar gasped. "You can't do that! It's bad form!"  
  
Raistlin raised an eyebrow. "Since when are you British?" he asked.  
  
"I'm not," Dalamar said, pouting. "But I'm Silvanesti elven, and despite what Laurana and that bunch want you to think, we DO have tea every day."  
  
"Really?" Raistlin asked, looking interested.  
  
"Oh sure!" Dalamar waved one hand effeminately. "We all march out under the trees and sit on these ADORABLE little blankets, and we drink tea out of the CUTETEST little cups, let me tell you the whole thing is to DIE for, and—"  
  
SMACK! One golden hand reached out and cracked Dalamar across the face. "By Nuitari, get ahold of yourself, man!" Raistlin cried.  
  
Dalamar blinked up at Raistlin and then smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. Got carried away."  
  
"I'll say," Raistlin grumbled. He frowned, looking put out. He rolled off of Dalamar onto his back, laying next to the elf with his arms crossed over his chest. He sighed loudly.  
  
"What?" Dalamar asked, propping himself up on one elbow.  
  
Raistlin glared at him.  
  
"What?!" Dalamar repeated, annoyed.  
  
"I've quite lost the mood of it, now," Raistlin said in a sulky tone.  
  
Dalamar sighed in exasperation. "One moment you HAVE to be on top, and the next, you're telling me you're not in the mood!"  
  
"I have a headache," Raistlin said defensively.  
  
"Oh, come ON!" Dalamar said with a growl. "Don't do this to me, Shalafi…"  
  
"And your feet are cold," Raistlin sniffed. He rolled over on his side, putting his back to Dalamar.  
  
"SHALA—Shalafi." Dalamar made a visible effort to control the tone of his voice. "Shalafi, come on, don't be like that." He put a hand on Raistlin's shoulder.  
  
Raistlin sat bolt upright, staring at Dalamar with tears in his eyes. "You don't understand what it's like to be me!! All you want is sex, sex, sex!! You never think about MY wants, or MY needs!!" He broke into gasping sobs, his face in his hands.  
  
Dalamar stared at the crying man helplessly. "Raistlin, I… I didn't mean… I had no idea…"  
  
Raistlin looked up, his eyes flashing, tears running freely down his cheeks. "You never did understand me!" he said in a quavering, mournful voice. He began sobbing uncontrollably again.  
  
Dalamar shook his head helplessly. "Shalafi, I swear to you, I didn't know you weren't happy…" He put a hand consolingly on Raistlin's knee.  
  
Raistlin shrank away from the elf's touch. He snatched up a pillow and began beating his apprentice over the head with it. "Don't – SMACK -- you -- WHAP -- touch -- THWAP -- me -- WHAM -- you -- THUD -- you… WHACK!! …you beast!" Raistlin yelled. He swung the pillow one last time with so much gusto that it knocked Dalamar clean off the bed. The elf landed on the floor with a loud BUMP.  
  
Dalamar moaned and spit out some feathers. He stared up from the flat of his back. After a moment, Raistlin peered over the edge of the bed.  
  
"Aaah!" Dalamar said and threw his hands up to protect his face.  
  
Raistlin sniffed once, dropped the pillow, now dripping feathers, onto the elf and sat in the middle of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest.  
  
Dalamar threw the pillow off, his face changing from sheet-pale to deep crimson. He stood up, angrily brushing the feathers off his black silk pj's and out of his hair.  
  
"Shalafi," he said in a dangerous tone. "I UNDERSTOOD the episode with the women's underwear. I could LOOK PAST that disaster with the whipped cream. I FORGAVE the holes in the chest ordeal, and we both agreed not to talk about the thing with the handcuffs. But this -- this is just too much. Too MUCH!!" He turned his back and strode over to the closet. He pulled out a suitcase and began throwing clothes into it at an alarming rate.  
  
Raistlin's eyes widened. He jumped off the bed and ran to Dalamar, putting a hand on the elf's shoulder. "Dalamar, please, don't!" he said quickly. "I didn't mean it. I promise."  
  
Dalamar spun around. "Never in all our years together have you EVER apologized to me, Raistlin," he said quietly.  
  
Raistlin frowned, looking uncomfortable. "I…"  
  
"Say you're sorry," Dalamar demanded. He crossed his arms. "Or I'm leaving."  
  
Raistlin blinked, stammering. "I… uh, I mean… I…" he trailed off miserably.  
  
"Ha!!" Dalamar said triumphantly. He spun back around and started throwing clothes into his suitcase again.  
  
"Fine!" Raistlin shouted. "Fine!! I don't need you anyway!"  
  
Dalamar slammed the suitcase shut and, stepping into his pink bunny slippers, started for the door. "Apparently not!" he shouted back.  
  
"I don't!" Raistlin yelled as Dalamar stepped through the doorway. "I never did need you!!" he shouted at the elf's retreating back. "After all, I never lo…" he trailed off, his voice cracking. "I never loved you," he called defiantly. He shook his head, sinking to his knees on the carpeted tower floor, listening to Dalamar's angry footsteps grow softer and softer.  
  
"Yes, I did," he whispered. He closed his eyes. He knew what he had to do.  
  
* * *  
  
When Dalamar finally crossed the final landing and started down the final flight of stairs, he sighed in relief. He'd taken the long way for more dramatic effect, but really after three hundred odd stairs, he was starting to regret his decision. He arrived (finally!) at the bottom floor and reached for the doorknob. His hand froze, and he hesitated, torn.  
  
"I never loved you." Dalamar heard the words echo in his mind and he frowned, his resolve hardening. He threw open the door.  
  
Raistlin stood before him, arms spread. "I'm… I'm sorry, Dalamar," he said, his eyes filled with tears. "I love you!"  
  
"Raistlin!" Dalamar cried as he threw himself into his Shalafi's embrace. They stood for a long moment, clinging to one another.  
  
They both pulled back and coughed, embarrassed. "We shouldn't have done that out here," Raistlin said uncomfortably. "We might start the other apprentices guessing."  
  
Dalamar raised his eyebrows. "Don't you think the nude statues of cupid you had placed around the Shoikan Grove might have tipped them off?" he asked.  
  
Raistlin looked troubled. "You really think so?" he asked fretfully.  
  
Dalamar smiled. "It's not important." He sighed. "Let's get inside before the cheesy dialogue turns this into any more of a Hallmark movie rip- off than it already is."  
  
Holding hands, the two retreated into the tower.  
  
"Hey Dalamar?"  
  
"Yes, Shalafi?"  
  
"Can I still be on top…?"  
  
"Don't push it."  
  
Pause.  
  
"Sorry."  
  
(end) 


	2. Beaches

It had been a good day, Raistlin reflected as he pulled the last Kleenex from the box and blew his nose. Last night, with Dalamar still out of town on business in Wayreth, Raistlin had decided it was long past time for some pampering. So today Raistlin had slept late, he'd taken a bubble bath, he'd had his morning tea while reading the comics, and he'd even watched Beaches while sitting on the sofa in his black, silver-trimmed bathrobe.  
  
He tossed the empty tissue box aside, and an obedient guardian appeared to spirit it away to the recycling bin downstairs.  
  
"What to do now?" Raistlin wondered aloud, nibbling quizzically on one flame-red nail -- he'd painted his nails after the bath, and he was proud to say that even his toenails were a dainty crimson. The varnish had survived the night without so much as a chip or smudge, despite Raistlin's biting habit.  
  
The archmage's golden eyes looked around restlessly. In the middle of the room stood the big bed with black silk sheets. Raistlin laughed to himself.  
  
"It may look like nothing more than scraps of fabric and dust if I stare at it too long with these cursed eyes of mine," Raistlin said, addressing the world in general, "but that doesn't change the facts: that bed has *memories.*" Raistlin smiled as his eyes drifted over the slightly rumpled blankets. Why, he could clearly recall each and every memorable occasion he'd enjoyed between those silk sheets...  
  
But, no, that train of thought was no good with Dalamar out of town. Raistlin sighed.  
  
Well, there was Raistlin's desk. He could always finish up the Creating Life thing; after all, the Live Ones were looking pretty grim these days, what with the Pool of Seeing's cable on the fritz.  
  
"No," Raistlin said after considering it for a moment. "This is *me* time. The magic can wait." He nodded primly to himself and stood up, hands on his hips, looking at the other side of the room.  
  
There stood Raistlin's bookcase, stacked high with dark magical volumes and old editions of Vogue. Raistlin shook his head; he just didn't feel like doing magic right now, either in his lab or with his makeup.  
  
There was Dalamar's desk, probably locked as usual and full of gods-knew-how-many of the dark elf's strange and unusual belongings.  
  
"I wouldn't do that," a disembodied, ethereal voice murmured in Raistlin's ear.  
  
"Oh, pooh," Raistlin said, waving a hand at the spectral guardian. "There's a desk full of Dalamar's strange and unusual belongings in *my* bedroom, and I haven't ever rooted through said belongings before. What could it hurt?"  
  
"Relationships are supposed to be founded on love and trust, which implies complete honesty," the disembodied, ethereal voice remarked philosophically. "Sneaking through Dalamar's desk when he's gone violates that trust."  
  
"Oh, shut up," Raistlin said crossly. The archmage crossed his arms in the sleeves of his bathrobe, feeling a little pouty. "When did my bloody *spectral minions* get so bleeding *moralistic?*" he asked disgustedly, addressing the air around him dramatically. "What happened to cruel and terrifying undead guardians? But no, they're all off about love and trust now! It's a regular episode of Sesame Street, this is!"  
  
"I heard that," the disembodied, ethereal voice said, sounding rather miffed.  
  
"Shove it, you!" Raistlin snapped. The disembodied, ethereal voice wisely chose not to reply, despite the fact that it had a biting retort involving its master and Oscar the Grouch readily on hand.  
  
Raistlin glared around into the air for a few moments before he satisfied himself that his nosy minions were all out of the room, and then he walked lightly over to Dalamar's desk and sat down in the elf's wheely office chair. He shuffled through a few of the papers on the desk -- spellbooks, taxes, bills, and a few letters from Wayreth. Raistlin snorted.  
  
"Par-Salian's been trying to get into Dal's pants for years," he mused wryly, pocketing a couple of the letters. "I'd like to see what sort of things the old goat has to say! I'll bet he even-- hello, what's this?" Raistlin noticed something brightly-colored near the back of the desk and he picked it up.  
  
"PLAYGIRL, ISSUE 23, VOLUME 2" the cover declared in bold red letters. A rather provocative photo of a smiling, much more than half-nude Tanis Half-Elven decorated the cover. Raistlin shuddered and dropped the magazine like it had bit him. He stared at it, his face going two shades paler and then flushing bright crimson -- an effect which sort of made Raistlin's golden skin seem to glow yellow, bronzed, and then a sort of orange.  
  
Truth be told, all this would have made for really a very interesting show of chameleon pyrotechnics had there been anyone there to see it. Of course, a the undead minions of the Tower of Palanthas glance up from their ongoing game of Risk now and then to see what's going on, and odds have it that one of them might have seen this Technicolor marvel in progress, but the fact remains that the true artistry of the moment was lost, as all spectral guardians are all colorblind.  
  
It's common knowledge.  
  
Positively seething, Raistlin he picked up the magazine and very deliberately hurled it across the room, muttering a few magic words.  
  
The provocatively smiling Half-Elven burst into flames halfway across the room and hit the floor as no more than ashes, which promptly blew themselves away. Raistlin nodded and brushed his hands off, feeling satisfied.  
  
"Dal doesn't need *that* when he's got me," he said, crossing the room again. He sat down on the sofa, wiggled his toes in his bunny slippers, and clicked on the TV feeling righteous and contented.  
  
" `Tanis's Secret Guide to Steamier Sex,' indeed!" Raistlin chuckled dryly, reaching for the bowl popcorn. 


	3. Misunderstandings

"About bleeding TIME he came home," Raistlin muttered, watching Dalamar trot up to the tower's front step. He wiped his feet on the pink-flowered welcome-mat and stepped inside. Raistlin crossed his arms.  
  
"He better have brought me something this time," Raistlin said, a little poutily. "After being left alone for a week with nothing but GhostWriter re- runs on TV..." he shuddered. It had been horrible. But now, with Dalamar back, life was looking up again. There was a bottle of wine chilling in the bedroom, fresh black satin sheets on the bed, and Raistlin had even carefully placed a few bouquets around, having gone to the trouble of stealing a couple dozen roses from the live ones' flower garden that morning. Raistlin put his hands on his hips and sighed briskly, satisfied.  
  
"Now to change," he said cheerfully, bustling off into the bedroom.  
  
* * *  
  
It had been a long week, Dalamar thought, pausing for a moment at the Tower's front door. His robes were tattered, nearly falling off one shoulder, and the distinct musk of cheap cologne emanated from his tousled hair. He rubbed at his sore neck and cursed quietly when he noticed the bright smudge of lipstick smeared across his fingertips. He must still have a few lip-prints on his neck, missed when he'd cleaned himself up. He shuddered vaguely, remembering where the clashing cosmetics had come from. That last night in Wayreth had been terrible indeed.  
  
"Don't be like that, my little elven toaster-strudel," Par-Salian had purred, advancing on Dalamar in a rather suggestive way. Dalamar had quickly backed away, eyes wide. "What, don't you like me like this?" the gray-haired white-robe had asked with a mock-pout.  
  
"If by 'like this,' " Dalamar had said, eyeing him with a slightly pained expression on his face, "you mean the white thong and the blue body- glitter, then I guess the answer would have to be... ah... no." The words had come out in a squeak; Par-Salian had quickly minced across the room, sapphire stilettos clicking across the floor.  
  
"But, my pointy-eared cupcake," Par-Salian had said, his voice grating in what he meant to be seductive growl, "I did this all just for you! It's why I summoned you here, muffin, after all." Dalamar had swallowed uncomfortably.  
  
"Could we, ah, cut down on the food references?" Dalamar had asked, a little weakly. A wave of bad cologne fumes rolled over the elf as Par- Salian advanced on him, heels tapping a sultry rhythm. Dalamar's knees nearly buckled, whether from the horror of the sight itself or the smell, he wasn't quite sure.  
  
"But why," Par-Salian asked with a dangerous smile, "why should I, when I've got such a scrumptious little specimen of chocolate-covered elf in front of me?" He'd pounced, then, and it had taken everything Dalamar had in him to fight his way out of those shabbily French-manicured claws, down the tower steps -- all four-hundred-something of them -- and through Wayreth Forest with the mewling, groping Par-Salian attacking him all the way.  
  
Dalamar sighed; he'd be grateful to get out of these robes and into something more comfortable. Like, for instance, nothing at all. He smiled, wondering whether Raistlin knew he was home yet or not.  
  
* * *  
  
Raistlin had slipped into something black, slinky, and fur-trimmed for the occasion. He'd turned off the clap-lights and gone around lighting votive candles, mostly his own "Rose Petals and Death" brand, a favorite of his since Dalamar had once said he thought the smell of cinnamon and decay was a turn-on. Now Raistlin sat on the bed, legs crossed demurely, his Melissa Etheridge CD turned down low to provide some background music.  
  
Raistlin heard the door to their suite open and he smiled. Dalamar was almost here! He heard footsteps enter quickly and then pause, as if in surprise.  
  
"He didn't expect the roses!" Raistlin murmured, feeling a little giddy with all the excitement. Like being a little tipsy.  
  
Tipsy! He suddenly realized he hadn't poured the wine! He dashed across the room and pulled the cork out with one red-painted nail, quickly grabbing two glasses and pouring them full of Silvanesti Red -- a very good vintage. The footsteps got louder and then the door opened.  
  
"I'm home," Dalamar said. In a fit of inspiration, he'd grabbed one of the roses on the way in and now had the stem held firmly between his teeth, so the words were more like, "I'm oome." But you get the picture.  
  
Raistlin smiled. "Hello, lover," he said in his most sultry whisper and turned around slowly. When he took one look at Dalamar, however, his smile disappeared. The wine glasses and bottle all slipped from nerveless golden fingers.  
  
Dalamar almost choked on the rose stem. He managed to spit it out, only pricking his tongue on the thorns in a couple places, and shouted something in the language of magic and the glasses and bottle settled slowly down onto the black tile floor. He looked up at Raistlin, eyebrows raised in amazement.  
  
"Raisty, darling, that's a very good vintage!" he said, mildly confused.  
  
"Don't you 'Raisty' me!" Raistlin growled. He emphatically reached down, picked up the bottle, and threw it back down. Dalamar cringed as it shattered, wine and glass flying everywhere.  
  
"But, love, please--" Dalamar started.  
  
"Go back to her, Dalamar!" Raistlin snarled. "I'll bet she -- whoever she was -- can afford better!" Raistlin advanced on Dalamar, golden fingers balled into fists at his sides. "Couldn't she? A rich little Wayreth slut, wasn't she?" Dalamar backed up until his shoulders hit the wall. Raistlin leaned forward, inches away, golden skin flushed an angry copper. "Wasn't she?!"  
  
"Actually," Dalamar said a little weakly, " 'she' was a 'he.' " Raistlin's hourglass eyes flew wide.  
  
"You cheated on me with another MAN??" Raistlin squeaked. He staggered backwards, eyelids fluttering, fanning at himself with one manicured hand. "You... you..."  
  
"Raisty, no, it wasn't like that!" Dalamar said quickly, rushing forward. Raistlin shook his head.  
  
"After everything... (gasp) ...I've done for you..." Raistlin's knees gave out and he collapsed on the bed, still fanning frantically. Dalamar leapt over the broken glass and came to a skidding halt at the edge of the bed.  
  
"Darling, please!" Dalamar tried. "You don't understand!"  
  
Raistlin sat up, eyes glowing. "Don't understand?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "I. Don't UNDERSTAND...?" Dalamar, not seeing the danger, stepped into it with arms open wide.  
  
"Right!" Dalamar said, nodding eagerly. "If you'll just let me explain, I'm sure..."  
  
"Explain THIS!" Raistlin shouted. He grabbed the collar of Dalamar's much- abused robes in one hand and thrust the other through a hole, placing his fingers firmly across the elf's chest.  
  
"Raisty, love, what're you doing?" Dalamar, asked, trying to squirm away. Raistlin closed his eyes and started chanting. "Raistlin!" Dalamar gasped, eyes wide. He'd recognized a few of the words, and if he were right, then Raistlin was casting...  
  
"Raistlin!" Dalamar shouted, wriggling with all his might. Raistlin's golden fingers stayed closed tight, however, and the casting didn't waver. Little wisps of steam started curling away from Raistlin's fingers. "Raistlin, please, don't do this--"  
  
And then there came a scream.  
  
* * *  
  
Dalamar sighed contentedly and set the empty bowl aside.  
  
"I think I'd like some bread now," he said musingly. "Oh Raisty..."  
  
Raistlin stood up from his perch on the edge of Dalamar's sickbed. He muttered something rather not complementary about where he'd like to PUT Dalamar's bread and started for the pantry in the next room. Dalamar laughed, delighted.  
  
"Oh, come now, love," he called to Raistlin, "it's the only way I'll get well." The elf grinned. "And besides, it was your own fault for not listening to me until AFTER you put a handprint in my chest." He scratched at the edges of the bandages criss-crossing his chest, and smiled smugly as Raistlin returned, half a loaf of bread held in his hands.  
  
"Oh, shove it," Raistlin growled. He threw the bread at Dalamar rather harder than was really necessary. It slipped through the elf's slender fingers and bounced off his chest before landing in his lap. Raistlin sat back down in the chair, filing smugly at his nails.  
  
"Bloody hell!" Dalamar gasped. His gritted his teeth until the pain subsided, then glared at Raistlin, who prettily blew him a kiss. "Thanks," he said, a little bitterly.  
  
" 'Hell hath no anger like that of a magi scorned,' " Raistlin said with a little smile. 


End file.
